Virgin for Sale Page 9
“But then why are we taking so many measurements?” I asked, baffled. Because at the moment, Maria was stretching the tape rule between my wrist and elbow, sizing up the length of my forearm. “Or is this some kind of top secret military health exam, all my stats are gonna go into a computer for crunching?”
And the older woman threw back her head and laughed then.
“If this was a health exam, I think we’d get a doctor to do it, and not me in this setting,” she said wryly, indicating the fluorescent lights overhead, the standard corporate office. “You know what? I’m gonna leave it as a surprise,” she added thoughtfully. “You’ll see why I’m doing this.”
And I huffed, rolling my eyes. By now Maria and I had developed a mother/daughter type relationship, or maybe not exactly that. Big sister/little sister was probably a better way to describe it, I was an annoying bubbly brat, nipping at her heels, and she was the long-suffering older sister guiding the way, getting ready to introduce me to the adult world.
“Come on,” the older woman said briskly. “Turn around for me.”
And I spun slowly so that she could wrap the tape rule around my calf. I didn’t even say anything this time, wherever these stats were going, it couldn’t be good.
But now, I saw the reason. Because these clothes had been tailor-made for me. Instead of the latest designer off-the-rack styles, a seamstress had made a wardrobe from the finest materials, each piece to my specifications. And as I browsed through the items, I came upon several sets of gloves in supple leather, stitched with the utmost care, as well as two pairs of satin elbow-length ones. That had to be it. This is why Maria measured the length of my forearm, so that these beautiful formal gloves could be made to my specs.
But why in the world would I need gloves like this? And burrowing deeper into the closet, I had my answer. Because in the back, behind the multitudes of colorful blouses, dresses, coats and jackets, was a selection of evening gowns. They were absolutely drop dead gorgeous, and I gasped as I pulled one out. It was a silver color, beaded with rhinestones across the bust, strapless and shaped like a long column with a high slit on the thigh. Oh my god, I’d be transformed into Jessica Rabbit in this, my creamy boobs peeping out the top, my waist and hips emphasized by the tight fit.
And the silver dress wasn’t the only one. There were several evening gowns, purple, red, one the deepest shade of midnight blue. They were absolutely breathtaking and I shivered a bit. What did Mr. Fire have planned for me? Where in the world was I going to wear these clothes, I’d never been to anything even half so formal, you could wear a nice sweater and skirt to Homecoming where I came from.
So my hands trembled a bit as I put everything back. I was in over my head, for sure. This was a world where I had no experience, I was swimming blindly in dark waters, my hands pedaling futilely, my feet kicking but to no avail. What was going on? What would happen next?
And the thing is that there were no answers. I was a spunky, firebrand type of girl, used to making my way in the world, trying to get things to happen. And most of the time, there were results. I’d been able to leave my small-town upbringing for the bright lights of the big city, gotten myself into college in NYC with a scholarship to boot.
But this was different. Back then, there’d been guidance counselors, older students, heck, even my community behind me, encouraging me, supporting my efforts. But here there was no one. I was a blind man wandering in the dark and the only saving grace of it all was that I knew I was in over my head. I knew that I was no match for Mr. Black, no match for the Club, no match for anything coming. And so I did the only thing I could. I got into the big bed and closed my eyes, hoping to dream a dreamless sleep. I hoped that I’d be able to refresh myself, wake up and face the world with a bright smile, with fresh resolve. But instead of dissolving into peace, Mr. Fire’s face danced before my eyes. That blue gaze, the knowing smile, the angled line of his jaw. Despite my misgivings, despite my overwhelming lost feeling, the big man’s mien danced before my eyes as I dozed and I clutched it close. I was his … but I’d find some way to make him mine as well.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Andrew
She’s been here two days. I bought her two whole days ago and I haven’t breached that curvy body yet. I’ve touched Annie, sure, I’ve kissed her, stroked those breasts, her tummy, even running my hand between her thighs, testing that swollen flesh, her intimate warmth. But I haven’t done more. It’s crazy, completely out of character for an alpha.
Because god knows, I’ve had women. They’re pouring out my ears, it rains females from the sky most days. I could go to Starbucks and two different women would chat me up, one with a small dog cradled in her elbow, the other a middle-aged MILF, both of them vying for my attention despite the fact that they don’t even know me, I’m just a dude in line. But what the fuck, may as well work it to the max, may as well take the pussy offered. So long as it’s fine, fresh, and sweet, who am I to say no?
So it’s like I’m a different man with Annie James, completely out of character, someone with morals, who’s actually decent. Someone who actually cares, and that’s the craziest part of it all. I don’t … or at least I shouldn’t. Because I fucking bought her at auction, signed, sealed and delivered. What could be more transactional than this? Money was exchanged, I paid dollars for a girl’s body, her time, her virginity for the princely sum of five million, all of it in cash, there was no layaway plan, no returns. So I should have been all over her already, that pretty pussy should have been breached, penetrated so hard, wrapped around my dick non-stop. Each passing second was costing me money, each minute that I wasn’t in her a thousand dollars lost.
And God knows, Annie James is delectable. The constant wetness between her thighs, the gushes of warmth in my hand, the pebbled hardness of her nipples, those pink crests beckoning. Fuck, she’s sex on two legs and there’s nothing more that I want to do than fuck her, to bend that curvy body over and ram my dick in hard. But I’ve held back because … I don’t even know why, to tell the truth. Is there something about her? Something unique, sacred even? All I know is I’ve been like a barely controlled animal, reining myself in while spending time in the beautiful brunette’s company. Because we’ve been hanging out at the compound, eating leisurely lunches, playing tennis, and generally having a good time. And fuck, but the girl drives me insane.
“My serve!” she called from the other side of the net. We were in an underground tennis court, for members only, cavernous and huge, so brightly lit that it felt like real sunshine, unless you looked straight into the Kleig lights. Then the glare took on a different tone, cold and icy white instead of the warm radiance of the sun. But whatever. It was as nice as any court in the outside world, the floor of red clay, the nets perfectly strung, even a club house in back with top of the line rackets and complimentary athletic wear.
And shit, but Annie looked delectable in her outfit. She was decked out like a real tennis player in a sleeveless white polo and short skirt, but there was a catch. Because instead of tight compression shorts underneath, this particular tennis skirt came with a g-string sewn in, a bright white sliver of fabric that just barely covered her cunt, showing off the girl’s sweet cheeks to amazing effect, huge and round, firm and juicy. And any swing of her hips, any casual movement caused that skirt to flip up, giving me a good look of heaven underneath.
So fuck yeah, I was playing with a hard on, barely able to focus. Shit, Annie was winning the match because I sure as hell couldn’t keep my eyes on the ball. It would bounce to and fro and I’d swing wildly in the hopes of connecting, like I was some amateur, some lady who lunches with really bad tennis elbow and poor hand eye coordination. Because shit, playing ball was impossible with those perky tits bouncing, the huge globes of her ass winking at me, my cock shuddering in reply.
And it only got worse. As Annie stretched to serve, my dick almost spurted. She was like a symphony come to life, a million moving parts jiggling and I didn’t know
where to look next, my eyes zipping between this and that, like a starving man in a candy store. The female tossed the ball high, the white tank strained at her boobies, the dark circles of her areola shadows beneath the thin material, those huge jugs wobbly and so fucking decadent as her back arched. And oh fuck, but she stretched even more then, rising on her tippy toes, racket raised behind her head, and that skirt went up as well, revealing the creamy lengths of her thighs, those chunky ham hocks so delicious that my mouth watered, literally filling with saliva. But the finale was coming because as the brunette slammed her racket down, the pleats of her skirt flew up as well, fluttering a bit and I got a glimpse of that pussy. Her lips were bisected by the g-string, somehow her panties had gotten scrunched during the tennis game and I could see that puffy pink flesh, so beautiful, dazzling under the lights.
And of course, I missed, rooted to the spot, unmoving as the ball whizzed by me with a resounding thunk. I was like a dead man, frozen, twitching as the game went on.
“Ace!” my girl called cheerily from the other side of the net, prancing a bit, smiling widely at me. “Forty-love!”
And I groaned, straightening to move to the other side of the court. Forty-love? I’m a fucking fantastic tennis player and here I was losing to a girl a foot shorter than me, round and bouncy, because I couldn’t focus on anything but her body. I should have been penalized for my behavior, it was so fucking unreal, acting like a dumb, blind loser, aged and creaky, completely distracted by the delectable woman before me.
But that’s how it is. And that’s how it’s been during our two days together, I’ve been wining and dining Annie, talking to her, getting to know the woman. And she’s been sweet, I actually enjoy spending time with Annie, she’s interesting and bubbly, with an animated wit and quirky sense of humor.
“Mr. Fire,” she said, a smile teasing at her mouth, sipping delicately at her juice one day at dinner.
I shot her a glance while cutting into my steak. There was no wine for my baby despite the fact that she was extraordinarily adult-looking at the moment, wearing a short, white cocktail dress with a plunging vee, one that highlighted the shadows between her breasts, those creamy orbs succulent and delicious. But my girl wasn’t twenty-one yet, and grape juice, not wine, filled her glass.
“Yes?” I rumbled, taking a delicious bite. Man, this stuff was heavenly, Cook had outdone herself again with the rare, tender meat, paired with creamed asparagus and scalloped potatoes. Shit, I might never leave the compound, it was too fucking awesome, the food, the drink, the environment … and the company of this woman.
But Annie blushed again, her small fingers stroking the stem of her glass sensuously.
“Mr. Fire,” she murmured again. “I was wondering …”
I looked up at her, my blue gaze smooth and even, impossible to read.
“Yes?” I rumbled again casually, taking another bite.
“Well, I was wondering …,” she ducked her head, shy all of a sudden.
“Baby, there’s no reason to be shy,” I ground out, putting my fork down and reaching over to tuck an errant brown curl behind her ear. She flushed immediately, body growing hot, mouth dropping open at my nearness. I loved it, I fucking loved it, I love when a woman is tuned to my channel, when I’ve got her so sensitized to my presence that just being around me starts the juices flowing. “You should never be shy when you’re with me,” I growled. “Part yourself wider baby, let me see.”
And the brunette blushed because we were eating dinner, yes, but I like my baby to show me everything. And so the short dress she wore was pulled up slightly, just enough so that I could see those delectable thighs through the glass table top, get a glimpse of the shadowy sweetness beneath. But I wanted more.
“Part yourself baby girl,” I commanded, my voice hoarse suddenly. “Let Daddy see your sweetness.”
And with a sigh and a wiggle of her hips, the brunette obeyed. Slowly, she pulled the fabric up a little higher until it was bunched at her waist and spread her knees, those chunky white thighs thick and delectable. And then slowly, oh so slowly, she trailed a finger from her knee upwards. My breathing literally stopped, blue gaze riveted on that digit. And giggling, the girl shot a teasing smile my way. Because slowly, oh so slowly, she dragged her finger up the inside of her thigh, caressing the flesh, mesmerizing, heavenly, and then stopped right at the crevice of her thigh and pussy, dipping one pink, polished nail into that sweet spot, stroking that sweet skin.
“Mmm,” she murmured, shooting a coy glance at me. “Mmm.”
But Annie’s part vixen, I swear she’s a descendant of Salome herself. So pushing her knees wider, she ran her finger over her twat then, stroking the soft pink lips, dipping her digit into her hole. It came out wet, of course, because my baby is wet all the time, she’s got a slutty cunt, one that drips like a leaky faucet, there’s no stopping the fluid.
But Annie wasn’t done, far from it. Never breaking eye contact, she reached down to the base of her slit, throwing her head back slightly, those plush lips parted, eyes half-closed in ecstasy and scooped some cream from her pussy, coating her fingers before lifting them to her lips, lightly licking her essence.
“Tastes good, Daddy,” she breathed. “Ummm, goes perfect with my potatoes.”
And I grunted, my cock literally jerked and spurted a bit, I was so fucking turned on. A wet splotch darkened my crotch and Annie giggled seeing it.
“Daddy, is that …?” she tittered. “Daddy, did I do that to you?”
I growled menacingly.
“You know that’s not how little girls treat their daddies,” I ground out. “That’s not what little girls do, they get a bad, bad punishment.”
But my brunette wasn’t intimidated. Instead, she giggled some more, dipping her fingers again into her pussy for another scoop of the good stuff and bringing it to her breasts this time. I watched, mesmerized, as she slowly pulled the cup off of one huge tit and smeared her pussy juice on the puffy nipple.
“Like this Daddy? Do bad little girls do this? Are you going to punish me now?” she breathed.
And like a fucking lion, I roared then, grabbing her by the waist and hauling that curvy body over my lap, Annie still wriggling and giggling before me.
“Oh Daddy!” she breathed, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Oh!”
But fuck, this wasn’t playtime and I’m not a man to be toyed with. Sure, she thought I was gonna feel her cunt again, maybe suck the pussy juice off those tits, and shit, I wanted to do that, but little girls need to be trained. So I wrenched her arms off my neck and fixed her with a cool blue gaze.
“This is gonna hurt,” I warned, voice neutral. “This is gonna hurt.”
But Annie was still testing my limits. She wriggled and giggled more, like a playful puppy, her skirt pulling up all the way so that those delicious ass cheeks pressed against my dick, the hardness impossible to hide, it was a fucking iron rod at this point and the brunette moaned again, sliding against it, pushing her pussy against the pole.
“Put it in Daddy?” she breathed, brown eyes wide, melting beneath me. “Put it in?”
Oh fuck yeah, my little whore wanted her virginity taken, wanted me to plow her right now at the dinner table. But no such luck, pain before gain and my baby was getting it. Without waiting, without giving her any warning, a big hand lifted and I smacked her pussy with my open palm, the crack loud and shocking.
“Oh!” the girl cried, squirming on my lap, those big boobies bouncing, cunt flushing a deep pink immediately. Shit, it looked good and I slapped her again quickly, another resounding crack sounding out.
“Oh!” Annie screamed this time, tensing in my arms before squirming frantically, trying to get away. “Oh!”
“That’s right,” I ground out, pinning her in my lap. “Bad girls get their pussies spanked, now part your legs.” Because I’d only slapped the top part of her mound so far, the juicy, white flesh that hid secrets within. But I was gonna smack that pussy good.
“No!” she cried, her voice in a high whine. “I promise I’ll be good Daddy, I promise, I promise!”
But I shook my head.
“Bad things happen to bad girls,” I said grimly. “Now spread,” I commanded curtly.
And slowly, trembling, a film of tears on her lashes, Annie obeyed. Centimeter by centimeter, the white flesh parted until her pink pussy lips pulled apart slightly, her hooded clit just visible.
“More,” I ground out. “All the way.”
And she whimpered again.
“Please Daddy,” she whimpered in a small voice. “I promise I’ll be good, I promise.”
But my head shook curtly.
“Bad girls need to learn a lesson,” I ground out, voice cold. “Daddy says now.” So the brunette hung her head, parting her thighs until they spread completely, her deep pink pussy open, labia pulled apart, clit on full display.
And to my satisfaction, her sensitive nub had come out to play. Oh fuck yeah, she was so aroused that it stood stiff and proud, big as my thumb, waving in the air. And without hesitation, I lifted my hand smacked it hard, my big palm caressing that secret nub.
“Owww!” she screamed, body seizing in my lap, face buried in my shoulder, tears beginning to stream. “Ow!”
“Ow is right,” I ground out, and with absolutely zero hesitation, I slapped that clit again. It was rubbery and hard, and even bigger the second time around, popped full with blood, pain mixed with arousal.
“Owww!” Annie howled this time. “Ow ow ow, hurts so bad, ohhhhhhh!”
Because I was rubbing her pussy now, massaging it, making her feel good and hot, giving that swollen flesh a solid takedown.
“Fuck little girl, that’s what you get for teasing Daddy,” I ground out, eyes hot on those curves, on the woman in my lap twisting and crying as I massaged her cunt. “You don’t call the shots, baby. Ever.”